


Whumptober 2019

by sarinoxious



Category: jacksepticeye, jacksepticeye egos - Fandom, jse egos - Fandom
Genre: Blood, Captive, Circus, Death, Gen, Gore, Hallucinations, Hypnosis, Medical Malpractice, Mental Abuse, Physical Abuse, Surgery, Violence, Whumptober, Whumptober 2019, cyborg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-11-09 03:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20846513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarinoxious/pseuds/sarinoxious
Summary: These are my works for Whumptober 2019! For the used prompt lists, see whumptober2019.tumblr.com





	1. Day 0 - Introduction

“And for my next trick-” the magician hollers, twirling on his heel in the spotlight, his long coat flailing behind him like a cape. With steady steps, he approaches a trapdoor in the stage as an object rises from it. The spotlights change to the object with a clang, and Marvin’s gloved hands grab the sheet that covers it, holding it for a moment, revelling in the anticipation that rises from the crowd.

He janks it away, revealing a young blindfolded woman, tied up to a board, red and white targets painted on and around her. The skin below her eyes is red from her constant crying, and the shackles around her wrists and ankles have painted her skin in pretty shades of blue and purple. Not his fault, he has to admit. He warned her not to struggle, that the restraints would be tight and that she might hurt herself, but she refused to listen. Oh well.

The crowd bursts out in their ooh’s and aah’s, as they always do. They don’t see how the woman shivers in fear, how her trembling lips whisper pleas and promises. They see a show, entertainment, they paid to have fun and fun they will have.

The woman recoils as Marvin’s gloved hand touches down on her cheek, wiping away a tear. He leans in, unable to suppress a smile as her breath staggers. “Do try to smile, darling,” he whispers, before using his fingers to force the corners of her mouth up. He tilts his head to look at her, mulling over whether to remove her blindfold or not. Already imagining that delightful look of fear in her eyes, he tilts her head forward to untie the blindfold, tossing it into the crowd with flair.

He twists around again, counting seven steps as he produces three throwing knives from his sleeves, and juggling them around for a bit, the rowdy crowd cheering him on. They’re oblivious to the fearful state of his target practice. Where he sees a crying and shaking woman, body tense with the fear of death, they see a beautiful woman, smiling encouragingly, eyes bright and clear and confident, trusting the magician with her life, literally. 

It’s one of his favourite feelings, he ponders, having someone else’s life in your hands. Such power, such control. He could end her life right here, right now, if he wanted to. She knows that too. That’s probably why she struggles so much against him. She’s still afraid, worrying too much, she doesn’t trust him. He could easily change that, if he wanted to - hypnosis is an awfully handy little tool. But he doesn’t want to. The fear, the worry, the cowering, that’s the best part.

He steadies his grip on the knives in his hands, and in one fluid movement, he turns and throws all three. He keeps his pose, hands outstretched towards his target, front knee bent in a right angle, back leg perfectly stretched, and watches as the knives fly at their targets. Two thuds, one squelch - the second knife has buried itself in her thigh, but her scream of agony is drowned out by the cheering of the crowd. 

Two more knives find their way into Marvin’s hands. His eyes find their targets. It’s tougher to aim true now that’s she’s shuddering so much, as if it’s the first time she’s ever had a knife lodged into her leg. He wonders when she’ll finally get used to it, if ever. He’d hate to have to find a replacement for her.

Two more knives are thrown, digging themselves into the wood right beside her ear, and the muscle of her left arm. The crowd cheers, oblivious to the trails of red that cut through the painted targets.

He raises a hand, and with a click of his fingers, the spotlights shrouding both of them in blinding light shut off. The crowd gives a small gasp, and he can hear their breath stagger as they hear the thud thud thud of knives being thrown onto the board.

When the lights switch back on, the woman is hanging limply in her restraints, blood slowly trickling from her arms and legs. She’s not dead, he knows that. Probably passed out from fear or something. Coward.

But his illusion holds up, and the crowd sees his faithful assistant, smiling brighter than the sun, completely unscathed, a perfect circle of knives around her.

He spreads his arms wide, receiving the applause and praise from the crowd while the woman is slowly lowered through the trap door. Out of mind, out of sight, that’s how these shows work, the crowd has already forgotten all about her when the trap door closes, anticipating what his next trick will be.


	2. Day 1 - Shaky Hands

He's standing in position, motionless, just like Boss ordered. He had done his job well, up to this point, and he wasn't about to let Boss down. He mustn't let Boss down.

The girl was crying when he bound her down, her nails drawing red trails of desperation on his arms and hands. She really seemed to dislike being brought on stage, which was odd, Henrik thought. Why was she so scared to go on stage, to be part of his show? Isn't it wonderful to be on stage?

But it didn't matter. He was stronger than her, and the pain didn't bother him, thanks to Boss. So he bound her down, pulled a blindfold over her eyes, and draped a cover over the board she was strapped to, just as he was instructed. She kept on begging and pleading for him to let her go as he wheeled her to the stage elevator. He didn’t listen.

Right on cue, Henrik pulls the lever, causing the trapdoor to slide open and the plateau to rise up. The girl's whimpers die out as she's elevated, leaving Henrik behind under the dimly-lit stage.

And now, he waits. It is very important that the Stars of the show remain in pristine condition, Boss always says, and it is up to Henrik to keep them that way. And Henrik cannot let Boss down.

The lights flicker and flash, music rises and falls together with the hearts of the crowd. Henrik can only imagine their delighted faces, all joy and happiness. Finally, the applause rolls over, thundering in his ears, and he pushes the lever back up. Down comes the girl, no longer blindfolded, no longer covered by a sheet. No longer crying, fighting, or scratching. She remains perfectly silent as he undoes her restraints and pulls out the knives that had her pinned to the board. limply falling forward into his arms, and he carries her away to his trailer.

She's delirious from the loss of blood, pale and shivering, eyes rolling away in their sockets. What was once a slow trickle of blood became a steady flow once he had pulled the knives out, and he would have to act quickly if Boss wanted her ready for the next show. And he knew Boss would want her ready for the next show.

Henrik does not want to know what would happen to him if he let Boss down.

So he sets to work, tying the girl down on the operating table, putting pressure bandages on the wounds he’s not currently stitching up. While he works, a voice in the back of his head tells him that she needs a blood transfusion, but he does not know her blood type, and even if he did, he didn’t have any spare blood. Instinctively, a bloody hand reaches into his pocket, as if to grab something. He… he needs to “call a hospital”.

…

Why?

He shakes his head as if to sling those distorted thoughts out. He doesn’t know what “call a hospital” means, and now is not the time to find out. 

As the Star’s skin grows colder and colder, Henrik’s hands start to shake more. She wasn’t dying, was she? No, no, she- she wouldn’t dare die. Boss would be so mad if she died… she wouldn’t dare. 

And so it goes, while the needle and thread slip through Henrik’s slick and blood-drenched fingers, so does her life slip away from him, slowly dripping out of the many stab-wounds she’s had to endure, away, away from Henrik, from Marvin, away from that awful stage, that horrid crowd. Up, up, up she flies, like Marvin can, but differently. Finally, truly, a Star, shining brightly for one last fleeting moment, before her light dies out, and she disappears.


	3. Day 2 - Explosion

"Henrik." The sudden voice behind him caused him to startle, and he twirls around quickly, hiding the Star's non-breathing chest with his own body. If Boss finds out that she... that he- that- 

No. He cannot find out, and he will not find out.

Carefully, he raises his gaze to meet Boss' eyes. The usual sparks are dimmed, his energy slightly drained after the show. Pristine white gloves are peeled off his hands, not a spat of blood stains them, unlike Henrik's garments. He takes a deep breath, his fingers squeezing around the edge of the patient's table.

"Why is my Star not breathing?" Marvin tilts his head, and blinks slowly, two cat-like pupils replacing the human ones.

And just like that, his heart synchs up with the Star's - that is to say, it stopped.

"Wh- I- she-" Henrik stammers, words and sentences fighting for dominance on his tongue. How the fuck is he supposed to explain this? He had one task, one, and he blew it. He messed up, he messed everything up, and Boss was- Boss was-

"Tsk, tsk," Marvin raises a hand, silencing his voice and mind instantly. "Tell me, Henrik, what is your purpose here?"

"T-to-to keep t-the Stars ali-live, Boss."

"Correct. I have given you this one job. One." Marvin's hands disappear between his back as he slowly paces around Henrik and his operating table, the lifeless Star still strapped to it. "Have I not been good to you, Henrik? Have I not taken you in when you had no home, no job, no money, no food, nothing besides the clothes on your back? Did I not feed you, dress you, did I not give you a warm bed to sleep in?"

"N-no, of course, B-Boss, I a-am eternally gr-rateful for e-everything you-"

“SILENCE,” he shouts, the suddenness of it causing Henrik to shoot backwards, banging his lower back to the edge of the table, before he falls onto the ground. He tries to move away, away from Marvin, dragging himself forward with his arms.

A boot is planted on his back, however, pinning him in place. The pressure on his back increases as Marvin leans down, bringing a scorching hot hand to Henrik’s face.

"Now, Henrik, you know what happens to people who do not do their jobs, correct?"

“Y-yes, Boss, but p-please, it-it wasn’t my fault, it wasn’t, it wasn’t!”

“Shut up!” The foot on his back is lifted before it comes down again, hard enough for Henrik’s spine to produce a crunching sound.

The fallen silence is used to take a deep breath, before Marvin speaks again. “What am I to do with you now, dear doctor…” he sighs, and his gaze wanders to the dead Star. “Your stitching is sloppy, Henrik. This is unlike you.” He takes his foot off Henrik’s back, kicking him in his side before planting his hands in his sides, waiting for Henrik to get up.

But he doesn’t get up.

“Get UP, lazy fuckface!” Marvin bends down again, grabbing a fistful of Henrik’s hair and lifting him off the ground. Henrik clamps his arm around Marvin’s shoulder, leaning onto him for support while he winces with pain. “Do you have nothing to say, hm? Speak!”

“I- I’m… I’m so sorry, Boss. My- my hands… my hands were shaking too much. There was too much blood, so much blood, I couldn’t-” he pauses in an attempt to recollect himself, but Marvin’s grip on his hair tightens, not allowing him to stop. “I couldn’t get a good grip on the needle, too much blood…”

Marvin tenses up completely, his hands balling into fists as his eyes light up with fury. “You let my star _die_-” he hisses, voice low and dangerous, “because your _hands were **shaking?!**_” He screams the last part, pushing Henrik against the wall, using his magic to pin his hands above his head. “Well, then,” he says, a dangerous smile around his lips, “I suppose you won’t be needing your worthless hands again, then, hm?” 

“N-no, Boss, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be a good doctor, I can be better, please, Boss, _pleas-_” the waterfall of false promises is interrupted by a guttural scream as red magic flashes out of Marvin’s hands, a concentrated beam of destruction aimed at the doctor’s useless hands. He screams so long and loud that Marvin half expects him to pass out, but he doesn’t.

By the time Marvin is content with a job well done, Henrik’s hands are replaced by two charred lumps. His entire lower arm is black and burned, fading into “regular” third-degree burns on his upper arms. Marvin withdraws his magic, and Henrik’s arms fall to his side as his body crumples to the ground, his legs unable to support him. 

Marvin huffs and turns around, leaving the doctor without granting him another glance.


	4. Day 3 - Delirium

Henrik writhes in his bed, visions leaving his mind’s eye just as sudden as they’d barge in. Faces, voices, places, all of them demanding his attention, yet all of them unfamiliar. A woman, two children, a home, a dog- Seeing them filled him with the kind of love that’s tinged with sadness, but he doesn’t understand why. Where’s Boss? Where are the Stars? Where is the Circus, where is his home? Why aren’t they with him?

He squeezes his eyes shut and presses his face into the pillow, hoping to cast the strangers out of his head. He’s shivering from head to toe, despite the pile of blankets that’s pressing down on him, despite the sweat that’s making his hair stick to his forehead.

Finally, the unfamiliar images leave his head, fading out into a nice gentle blue. He thinks he can discern a silhouette in the swirling and stirring colours, and tries to focus on it, to make out what it is, but a terrible headache flares up. _It’s much easier to just relax_, a foreign voice in his head tells him, _let the colours come and go as they wish_. Let the colours overflow, surround him, enshroud him, hold him and soothe him. Let the colours take him, away from here, somewhere safe, somewhere calm and nice and warm, somewhere without pain or fear.

Let the colours take him to sleep.


	5. Day 4 - Human Shield

A bang of blue, and the doctor jolts awake. He squints his eyes closed against the intense lights shining down upon him, rendering him unable to see the person standing beside Marvin. 

“How are you feeling, dear Doctor?”

That question is… a lot harder than it should be. If he has to be honest, he’d say… he doesn’t know. He tries to move, to stretch, to wipe the sleep from his eyes, but he must be shackled down to the bed, as his limbs don’t obey his will. 

“What- what happened?”

“Oh, nothing for you to worry your clever little head about, Doctor.”

What _had_ happened? The last thing he remembers is… the show, the Star, weeping as she rose, silent as she fell. As she- as she-

Oh. 

Once again, Henrik tries to struggle against his restraints, but his arms and legs seem heavier than they’ve ever been. His back and neck feel stiff, and there’s a dull pain thumping against the base of his skull.

“Jackie, turn them on.”

At last, Henrik becomes aware of the other person in the room. They’re sitting besides Marvin, a laptop on their lap. Various wires in various colours are connecting the laptop to a… to the…

To his bed.

The man named Jackie hits a key on his keyboard, and life flows back into his body. Well, “his” body. He sits up, slowly and mechanically, and lifts his arm, fascinated by the glint of metal. He runs the metallic fingers of his other hand up them, following the sleek smooth surface until he finds the edge, and feels his cold fingers touching his shoulder. He feels like he can hear the whirring as he moves his legs in an attempt to get out of bed. With a slight clank, they hit the floor. His toes, his knees, his hips… all gone. 

His eyes fall on a diagram on the wall, and is able to see a glimpse of it before Marvin hurries over to tear it off. His- his spine? All the way up to his fucking brainstem? 

Panic settles in, and his breath quickens - at least his lungs seem to be the same as he’s always had them. The rest, however? It feels… wrong, out of place, it’s not his, it’s not him, it’s _not his._ He clenches “his” fist and relaxes it, over and over again, but it doesn’t feel real. He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut, just trying to focus on the feeling of “his” hand, of the lack of muscles in them - closing, opening, closing, opening - when suddenly-

The tip of his right index finger slides open, and a scalpel extends. Speechless, he lifts his right hand, twisting and turning it, trying to make sense of this… this _absurd_ sight. 

And his mind finally snaps.

He tears out of his trance, pacing over to the man with the laptop - Jackie, was it? - and grabs him, easily lifting him out of his chair with one hand, while the other presses the scalpel to his neck, right over the carotid artery. 

The man doesn’t even try to struggle, despite looking quite strong. He would’ve easily beaten Henrik in a fight, before. But now, not even his greatest efforts can make the doctor’s iron grip budge, and he has no choice but to remain there, feeling the cold metal of the scalpel against his neck as the doctor’s laugh resonated in his ears.

“Undo it,” he demands, voice shaking.

Marvin extends his hands, low and calm, as if he’s trying to wrangle a wild dog. “Henrik-”,

“UNDO IT!” He screams, rattling Jackie’s frame a bit. The motion makes the scalpel break through Jackie’s skin, and the first trail of blood starts making it’s way down his neck. “I’ll do it!”

“Killing him won’t help you. He’s the one who did this to you, not me,” the magician’s smile is dangerously sweet, treacherous silver swirling around in his eyes, around and around and around and around and-

No. Henrik shakes his head and takes his eyes off Marvin’s, refusing to fall for _that_ trick again.

At which point Marvin turns his attention to the door, just in time to witness his bodyguard barging in, gun raised on Henrik and Jackie. He positions himself in front of Marvin, steadying his feet on the ground. Unlike Henrik in his mania, Chase’s hand holds a steady grip on the gun. “Let go of Jackie, Henrik,” he demands, “Unless you want to find out if that fancy new hand of yours is bulletproof?”


	6. Day 5 - Gunpoint

Just in time, Chase runs in, armed and ready to defend, ready to kill if need be. 

“No.” For a man in his condition, the newly built doctor’s voice is impressively steady. His metallic hand reflects the harsh lights of the mechanic’s workshop, drawing Chase’s eyes to the scalpel that seamlessly replaced a finger. The scalpel that the doctor is currently pressing against the mechanic’s throat.

“Let go of Jackie, Henrik. Unless you want to find out if that fancy new hand of yours is bulletproof?”

“NO!” He shouts, shaking his head. “No. No, you’re- you’re going to undo this, you- you-” 

His voice derails into deranged laughter, and he keeps shaking his head, keeping a steady pressure on the scalpel to the mechanic’s neck.

Chase cocks his gun. “I’m not warning you again, Doctor. Let the man go.” Boss shifts behind him, but he pays him no mind, his full attention focused on his job. “Would you rather be limbless? Or worse: _dead?_” He ignores the doctor’s stammering, pressing through right away. “Your flesh and bone limbs are _gone_, Doctor. They’ve been thrown away, I’ve seen them myself. You should be _thanking_ Mechanic, not holding a scalpel to his throat!”

“Don’t- don’t tell me what to do, what to think! I’m tired of it, _sick_ of it!” He pauses for a moment, to catch his breath, and hopelessness replaces the anger in his eyes. “Aren’t you? Always following _his_ orders, doing as _he_ says?” He nods to the space behind Chase, probably right were Boss is standing. “Don’t you want to br-”

“Alright, that’s quite enough,” Boss cuts him off, “Guard, shoot his knee.”

Without hesitation, Chase brings the barrel of his gun down, aiming at the joint of the Doctor’s leg, and pulls the trigger. The bang of the gun is followed by loud German cursing as the Doctor’s leg fails to support him, and he falls down onto one knee, his grip on the Mechanic loosening enough for the Mechanic to dash away from his iron arms.

“Good.” Joy sparks up in Chase’s chest at Boss’ acknowledgement of a job well done. 

Boss studies the cut on the Mechanic’s neck for a moment, and, figuring that he’ll live, returns his attention to the Doctor. “Leave us,” he orders, pointing at the door without granting them another glance. “Wait outside.”


	7. Day 6 - Dragged Away

“Now now, Doctor.” Marvin coos, tilting Henrik’s head up with a gloved hand. “Look at what you did to yourself, you can’t even stand! Though…” he purses his lips, taking in the kneeling man before him. “I could get used to this.”

“F-fuck you,” Henrik stammers, blue eyes defiant as he spits at Marvin. 

That earns him a slap in his face. “Where have your manners gone, Doctor? You used to be so eager to please me! Where did the doctor I know and love go, hm?”

“Y-you _brainwashed_ me! I was never yours, and I never will be!”

“Hm. We’ll see about that,” one of the corners of Marvin’s mouth twitches up in a smirk, and silver pools into his eyes as he bores them into Henrik’s, his hand sliding into his hair, grabbing it to force eye contact. “That’s right, keep looking at me, Doctor.” The Mechanic did his job well, a little _too_ well. The foreign material in Henrik’s skull had clashed with his magic, successfully expelling it. And if that means that Marvin has to use twice as much magic to turn Henrik back into his Doctor, then so be it. Once in the Family, always in the Family. He simply cannot afford to lose him.

It’s tough, overcoming all the barriers the implant throws up. Combine that with the Doctor’s newly found resistance, and… hah, it’s almost causing Marvin to break a sweat.

One last push of magic, and he’s through. Perhaps a bit too far, he realises, as the Doctor slumps under his hand, only being held up by Marvin’s tight grip on his hair. He lets go, letting the Doctor’s limp body thud onto the ground. 

He glances to the door as he mentally gives the Guard and the Mechanic their orders. Good as they are, they obey within an instant, coming in quietly and each taking one of the Doctor’s arms as they drag him away, back to his room.


	8. Day 7 - Isolation

Jameson doesn’t know it yet, but he just made the biggest mistake of his life.

He had spent his night off at a magic show, because why not? Magic is fun! During one of the acts -the knife-throwing act- he had picked up some… despair from the “lovely assistant”. She looked distressed, just for a second, as if she was in pain. He tried to set it out of his mind, to forget about it, but… she looked so scared, he couldn’t. He just wanted to check if she was okay. And so, after the show, he sought out the magician, raising his concerns with him, after which…

After which…

And now he finds himself chained to a rattled field-bed, tie-wraps cutting into his wrist. He’s seen the shadows of numerous people through the slit of light under his door, but he was unable to call for help, even if he’d wanted to. He’s never hated his own disability more than in this very moment.

He wonders how much time has passed, since the end of the show. An hour, two? An entire night? How long has he been tied to this bed already, and how much longer will he stay here? His wrists are aching, his triceps cramping up from their uncomfortable position. He tries to move, to ease the pain, but he tenses up when he hears the bed creak, frozen in fear. Are they- he swallows, panic rising in his throat - are they going to kill him? Was he right, about the woman in the knife-throwing act? Was she there against her will? Where is she now? Is she in trouble because he expressed his concern for her? Did anyone else notice the tracks of her tears, the terrified glint in her eyes, the distortion of fear tearing through her face?

Time passes, he supposes, though he has no idea in what quantity. He tries, again, to break free from the sharp plastic strips that bind his hands above his head - to no avail. They seem impossibly tough to break. He arches his back to look at them, and he catches onto a glimpse of purple light. Or, at least, he thinks he does. It might just be his imagination, taking over for him, fueled by the dark and silent room.

There was some… tumult, in the corridor, earlier. Shouting, then yelling, then screaming, then silence. He doesn’t want to think about the owners of those voices, or the state they might be in right now. But still, he can’t help it.

He tries to move again, rolling his shoulders to relieve his aching arms. He tries to move up, only to find that his ankles, too, had been fastened to the bed. For some reason, he hadn’t even thought of moving his legs up until this moment. He cranes his neck to see what holds them, disappointment and despair filling him when he sees those same white tie-wraps, and that same faint purple glow that he may or may not be imagining. He’s not gonna be able to get out of here by himself.


	9. Day 8 - Stab Wound

What must’ve been hours pass, and Jameson is nearly drifting to sleep when he’s startled wide awake - the door to his room is slammed open, light flooding in and blinding him. A shadow shields him - the shadow of a person, their features indistinguishable against the bright backlighting. They shut the door behind them, and with a snap of their fingers, the lights in the room turn on.

It’s the magician, the one from the show. Marvin? He’s wearing a smile, but it’s far from friendly. Uneasy under his glare, Jameson moves around a bit, his eyes blown wide with fright. 

The magician nods as he studies Jameson, apparently content. “You’ll do nicely,” he hums, more to himself than to Jameson. He raises his voice, and Jameson sees his bright blue eyes shift to silver when he asks, “You cannot speak, correct?”

Jameson finds himself nodding in reply to the question, despite not intending to.

“Good. Now, listen closely-,” the magician leans in, and Jameson cannot help but to get lost in his eyes, the swirling shimmering silver, spiralling around those deep dark pupils like the moon spirals the earth. “You belong to me. You belong to the Family. I am your Boss. Your mind is empty, you are relaxed, you can see all your worries, all your thoughts disappearing like snow under the sun. They don’t matter to you, not anymore. All that matters is pleasing Boss and serving the Family. That is all you know, and all you have ever known. Serving Boss and the Family is all you want, and all you will ever want. You would give your life to protect me, to protect the Family, and you know that the Family would do the same to you.”

Boss pauses, looking at Jameson expectedly. He eagerly nods, _of course_, he wishes he could say. But there is no need for words - if Boss wanted his words, he would allow Jameson to express himself, but there is no need for that, not yet.

“Nothing makes you happier than the acknowledgement of a job well done, you’d do anything to put a smile on my face, isn’t that right, Star? You are mine, my Star, my Silent Star.” 

Boss smiles as the pieces fall into place in Jameson’s mind, and the Silent Star smiles back. He’s doing a great job already.

“Now,” the silver disappears from Boss’ eyes, causing a pang of disappointment to shoot through the Star’s chest. They were so nice to look at… But then Boss’s hands spark purple for a second, and Star feels the restriction around his wrist and ankles vanish. Boss gestures for him to sit up, and he follows, gratefully stretching his arms and back while Boss speaks. “It is time for you to start your training, my Star.”

Boss offers his hand to Star, and he eagerly takes it, enjoying Boss’ support as he stands up. “Go stand against the wall, right there. Feet together, chin up. Perfect.” Another smile to warm Star’s heart, even though the wall is so cold against his body. 

Boss’ hands disappear under his cloak, and when it resurfaces, he’s holding three knives, small and pretty ones. A mist of recognition treks through Star’s mind, but he lets it dissipate, focussing on his task instead. 

“Stand very still, now. And give me a smile, if you will.” Instantly, the corners of Star’s mouth flash up, showing Boss the most genuine, happy smile he can muster. “Beautiful.” 

The praise only makes him smile wider, even when Boss moves and something shiny flies out of his hand, followed by a sharp pain in his leg. He leans forward to look at his leg, but Boss snaps his fingers, “Against the wall, my Star. No moving. You’re doing great.”

And so, the Silent Star remains against the wall, as knife after knife flies at his legs, his arms, sometimes nearly missing him, sometimes digging right in. He stands still, taut and upright, a never faltering smile clad upon his face. Boss showers him with praise, even after the room starts spinning, and he wavers, cold fevers running over his sweat-covered skin, white snow obstructing his vision. Blue light washes over him, soothing and pleasant, and he lets it take him away, lets it wash over him, washing away the warmth and stickiness from the knives. He falls asleep in a deep blue sea, thinking of nothing but Boss, Boss and his alluring eyes and his gratifying smile.


	10. Day 9 - Shackled

Henrik wakes up, a sunray directly shining upon his closed eyelids, causing him to stir in his hazed state. He’s outside, enjoying the shade of a tree as he takes a nap in the grass. He can hear birds chatter to each other, the way they always do in spring. In the distance, he can hear two young voices, and the voice of a middle-aged woman, all cheerful, disturbed only by giggles and laughter. His wife and kids, he realises, as he-

_No, no. None of that._

He opens his eyes, seeing nothing but blue, blue all around. The sounds of the garden have fallen away, replaced by a more familiar voice.

_Your name is Doctor. I am your Boss. You belong to me. You belong to the Family. Your purpose is to serve me and to keep the members of the Family alive. You have never had a life beyond the Family. _

Quiet as a mouse, he drowns.

-

Doctor wakes up, the smell of coffee filling his nose, causing him to stir in his hazed state. He’s in bed, lazily enjoying the tranquillity of a Sunday morning at home. Noise drifts up the stairs, sounds of playing children and breakfast being made. His wife and kids, he realises, as he-

_Ugh, again? Really? Quit thinking about them._

The voice causes an odd mix of despair and affection to take over his mood. He doesn’t want to listen to it, and yet, he wants to do nothing but listen to it. Obey it. Follow it. Serve it. Listen to it. Obey, follow, serve, listen, obey, follow, serve, listen.

_That’s right, Doctor. I knew you could do it._

The blue seeps through his closed eyelids, and he lets it overflow.

-

Doctor wakes up, finally. Against the wall, cold and wet, with his hands shackled to the sides. Or, well… his “hands”. His shoulders scream in agony, those damned human shoulders, and he quickly scrambles onto his feet to release them from the tension. The jangle of his shackles, though it is soft, hurts his ears, and he groans. It’s dark, but his eyes don’t seem to mind as he instantly finds Boss, sitting on a chair in the corner, studying him intensely.

“B-Boss? Why… why am I here?” He moves his arms again, ever so slightly. “Why am I chained up?”

Boss stands up, a gentle expression on his face, his eyes glowing silver but receding in intensity. “You were having bad dreams, Doctor. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself, or someone else.” He reaches out to the chains, but hesitates. “I wonder, Doctor, with your… new and improved arms, if you could break these chains without my help? Could you try that for me, please?” A brief flash of purple and the binding magic is taken out of the shackles, leaving only the mundane steel contraption that’s locked around Doctor’s wrists. 

Doctor takes a deep breath, clenching his jaws together as he strains himself to free his arms. The metal groans under the force, and just as Doctor feels like he’s about to dislocate his shoulder, he flies forward, into Boss’s arms, his shackles clattering onto the ground.

Boss hugs him, patting his back with one hand while letting the other roam into the Doctor’s hair, pressing his face into the crook of his neck. “Well done, Doctor.”


	11. Day 10 and 11 - Unconscious and Stitches

“Doctor.”

His eyes snap up, finding Boss in the doorway. He hadn’t even heard the door open, enthralled by the many hidden features of his prosthetics. 

“My new Star needs your attention.”

Like a well-trained soldier, he jumps up at the call of duty and follows Boss out the room. The hallways of this place are… odd, to say the least, though he never really thinks long nor hard about it. It’s not up to him to do so, not unless Boss asks him to. 

The pair reaches the medbay, and Doctor staggers by the entrance, feeling a bad memory hover over him. But his eyes fall on the patient, unconscious and bloody, and on Boss, impatiently waiting, so he pushes it aside and enters.

“I’ve been slowing the bleeding, but he needs stitches. Get to it.”

He’s right. Normally, Boss’s eyes are a mix of blue and silver, sometimes muted down to grey. But right now, his eyes are purely blue, all his magic focused on keeping the Star alive until Henrik can get his hands on them.

Him, he corrects himself. While his hands do the hard work - almost fully automated now, thanks to the Mechanic - he allows himself to study the Star’s face. Teal blue hair sits messily and ruffled on his head. Thick brown eyebrows, a perky black moustache, and a goatee - all strikingly different from the last Star he recalls seeing. He wonders what happened to her. She was so beautiful, he recalls, brown wavy hair touching down to her shoulder blades, and eyes as green as emeralds. A voice as clear and beautiful as the chatter of a songbird, slender fingers that lent themselves perfectly for playing the piano in their-

His attention is torn off the Star’s face as the forceps extension of his right pinky-finger stops sewing. He checks the knots - neater than any he’s ever made - and continues on to the next laceration, all thoughts about the previous Star expelled from his mind.


	12. Day 12 - "Don't Move"

Marvin swipes his hand over his Star’s forehead, and he immediately responds - his breathing and heart rate quickening as he wakes up from his artificial nap. His eyes flutter open, and he instantly tries to sit up - though he’s stopped by a metal hand on his shoulder.

“Careful,” Doctor says. “You have some stitches. You don’t want to tear them, do you?”

The Star nods and lies back down, a frail smile curling around his lips as he sees Marvin stand behind him. Marvin smiles back. He’s happy to see his Star is doing well, really, he is. These people - The Star, the Doctor, the Mechanic, the Guard - they’re his Family. They’re- they’re all he has. All he managed to salvage after-

He stops himself, not wanting to spiral again, directing his attention on the Doctor instead. He almost slipped out of his hands again, today. Always that wife of his… part of him is glad to be rid of her, finally. Soon enough, the Doctor’s memory of her will die out, and then everything will be back to normal. There should be no more crazed lunatics to bang on his gates and accuse him of kidnapping and brainwashing their husbands and fathers, their brothers and friends. They’re either with him, or they’re reduced to a pile of ash. Everything should go back to normal soon.

And, of course, right as he comes to that conclusion, something else goes wrong.

“Boss?” Doctor’s voice has a slight tremble as he tries to grab Marvin’s attention. “Boss, I can’t- I can’t move my arm. It’s stuck.”

He looks rather silly, his right arm outstretched to the front like that. He was about to check the last of the Star’s sutures, his movement smooth and silent, and now he’s just… frozen like that.

Marvin frowns, mentally calling the Mechanic to the medbay. “How are the rest of your prosthetics?”

“They work just fine, Boss,” Doctor replies, stretching and bending the fingers of his left hand to demonstrate. He takes a step back from the operating table, demonstrating the function of his legs. But his right arm remains frozen, locked up, and Marvin thinks he sees something green glowing inside. He blinks, and it’s gone. Could it be…?

The Mechanic rushes in, staring at the Doctor’s frozen arm with wonder. “What’s the problem, Doc?”

“I- I don’t know,” he stutters. “It just got stuck. I can’t move it.”

“Sit down,” Mechanic orders, gesturing towards a chair. “Head down, chin on your chest, please.”

Doctor does as he’s told, and Marvin moves to stand behind Mechanic as he works, watching closely as he unscrews a panel at the base of Henrik’s skull, before he starts meddling with the wires and electrical parts hidden underneath. Again, he thinks he sees something green flash by. “Did you see that?”

“See what?” The question is muffled by the screwdriver he’s holding between his teeth.

“That… that green light?”

“Hm… nope, didn’t see that. Are you sure you’re alright, Boss?”

He ignores the question, stepping back to let the Mechanic work in peace. After a few moments, Doctor’s arm falls down, eliciting a yelp from both of them. 

“Does it work?”

Doctor raises his hand to eye-height, stretching out his hand and balling it into a fist a couple of times. “I think so.”

“And the extensions?”

Smoothly as ever, the hidden tools slide out: forceps, a needle leading to a small supply of sedatives and anaesthetics, a flashlight, the scalpel he held against Mechanic’s throat, and last but not least, a jet lighter in his thumb.

“Great work, Mechanic. Well done.” Marvin’s praise makes the mechanic shine with pride as he closes the panel in Doctor’s neck back up and places his tools back in his toolbelt. 

“And Doctor,” he tilts Doctor’s head up with his finger to ensure his full attention, “If anything like this ever happens again, even if it’s just a finger, I want you to tell me right away, okay?”

“Yes, Boss.”


End file.
